


David

by Out_of_Character217



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood, Caning, Dehumanization, Drowning, Dubcon Kissing, Emotional Abuse, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Torture, Knife Play, M/M, Mental Abuse, Mind Control, Original Character(s), Pet whump, Physical Abuse, Rape, Restraints, Self Harm, Sexual Abuse, Shock Collars, Strangulation, Whipping, Whump, beatings, dubcon touching, mute whumpee, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23122192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Out_of_Character217/pseuds/Out_of_Character217
Summary: David is a Box Boy. Like the three that came before him and the many that will come after him. Programmed to be perfect in every way and silent as the grave, he is the perfect toy for Nathan Black, a high powered lawyer who walks the corridors of power. Enter Sebastian: an undercover FBI agent already neck deep in Black's seedy underworld, and now distracted by his growing feelings for David.
Relationships: David/Mr Black, David/Sebastian
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	David

**Author's Note:**

> the Box Boy Universe (BBU) was first created by Sweetwhumpandhellacomf and first written by Shamless-whumper over on tumblr. All characters are mine unless otherwise stated. General world-building credited to ashintheairlikesnow. Please heed the tags and proceed with caution, and if you spot something that you'd like tagged but isn't, just let me know.

The only time David says anything is when he is in the Red Room. And even then they aren’t words so much as noises. Sounds of pain and anguish. It is the only time Sebastian - or anyone - gets to hear his voice; muffled and laced with agony. Hidden away behind doors and walls and locks. But the delicate notes still drift through the empty silence of the condo and cut through the quiet like an animal’s cries of distress.

Sebastian pours himself another drink and tries to drown it out, the ice clinking in his crystal tumbler as he checks his watch and throws a glance over his shoulder, up the stairs that hover over the open space of the living room and then disappear. Left will take him to David’s room. Where David isn’t. Right will take him to Mr Black’s quarters and the Red Room. 

Another broken cry splits the quiet like a whip crack, cleaving the empty space in two and Sebastian cringes subtly. The corners of his eyes tighten, like he feels the blows against his own back. As if he feels the sting and the warmth of blood afterwards beneath his own shirt and suit jacket, and his skin tingles with the phantom pain. 

The whiskey helps, and by the time he’s finished Mr Nathan Black has appeared at the top of the stairs, dark slacks turned up over soft leather house shoes and the cuffs of his white shirt are rolled back over thick forearms. A thin film of sweat stands out on his face, his salt and peppered black hair smoothed back, and the flash of his silver Rolex catches in the soft down-lighting. Sebastian stands, straightening his posture as Black strolls down the last few steps and makes a beeline for the mini bar. 

“Status report?” Black says, voice all gravel and cigar smoke as he glances over his shoulder, hardly paying his head of security any mind at all. He swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the changing shapes and colours against the crystal, and on the side of his hand Sebastian can see a dark smear of blood. 

“Everything is prepared. I sent you the debrief.” Sebastian’s tone is clipped. It’s been a long day and he knows it’s not over. Not nearly. 

“Good.” Black turns and striped across his crisp white shirt is a splattering of blood. Not his of course. Sebastian doesn’t have to look for any wounds. “David will need assistance tonight. See to it that he gets to his room.” 

“Yes sir,” Sebastian replies, teeth clenched and shoulders tense. He steels himself. He feels the presence of the stairs like an ominous gateway. One that will take him into the very worst of his nightmares. He leaves his own glass on the table and checks his gun; still clasped in its holster at his side. “Will the doctor be needed?”

Black takes a moment to think before he finishes his whiskey and shakes his head. “No. Not tonight. Call him in the morning.” With that he leaves, sweeping out of the living room and he heads towards his office, closing the door behind him. 

Sebastian grimaces and wipes the sweat from his top lip. His mouth is full of the aftertaste of expensive liquor and dread but he climbs the stairs, his boots sinking into the plush carpet at the top. The Red Room is down the hall, furthest away from any other room and Sebastian can see the door has been left open, just a peek of the expensive mahogany panelling behind it, and of course, the crimson accents that give the room it’s name. It's not just the decor. Real salt and iron blood has stained the walls more than just once. More than just David’s. Sebastian has been around for them all. Eventually they break and have to be replaced. These toys. A new one ordered, fresh and clean and perfect. Always perfect for Nathan Black. 

Sebastian clears the thick saliva from his teeth with a sweep of his tongue and he pushes the door open, the down-lighting revealing the scene like a spot light opening up on centre stage. 

David hangs, suspended from the rack in the ceiling. Expensive Gucci handcuffs keep him tethered to the lengths of chains on runners for height adjustment. Tonight, Black has David on his knees, stripped naked, his back bruised and swollen, split in two places and weeping openly down his sides and buttocks. He’s facing the other wall and thankfully Sebastian can’t see his face. David can’t see his. Sebastian can’t gather himself quickly enough to hide the horror. Still. Even after all this time. He has seen things and done things that he can never be proud of but the sight of David’s blood, his abused body hanging limp, and his long blond hair splattered with blood, Sebastian feels an unease in his gut.

He keeps the door open when he goes inside. The knotted lash that has caused the damage has been cleaned and returned to its place on the wall with others like it. Black always takes meticulous care of his equipment before he leaves the room. 

Sebastian masters his face and slides into a neutral grimace, stepping round to see that David is unconscious. He breathes a sigh of relief and steps back, hesitant to lean in before he kneels and taps the side of David’s face. It does nothing. This time, a little firmer, Sebastian slides his other hand under David’s head and cradles it, shaking him gently back to consciousness.

He’s rewarded with a moan, soft and listless but definite. Sebastian wants to minimise any more time spent in the Red Room than is strictly necessary and he urges David to wake up faster. To the side of him, there is the row of pulleys and ropes. The one holding David up is tied off, but Sebastian won’t need that way down. Once he’s satisfied that David is coming round he stands and heads for the dresser. Inside there are more toys. More things to hurt and terrorise, but it’s the small silver key sat on top that Sebastian grabs. 

David’s bleary, unfocused eyes follow him. Green eyes mottled with brown that turn honey coloured in the natural light. Now clouded with pain and the thick sludge of a black out. He hasn’t been out long. He probably even made it all the way through the session before succumbing. It is part of his specific bespoke design, guaranteed by The Company to be completely stripped down and rebuilt to order. Every trace of what David -- no more his real name than the three that came before him -- had been before was gone. Replaced only with his protocols and responses coded into him by god knew what methods. Where he’d come from, who he was before, if he’d even agreed to this willingly, was all lost. And if Black knew he wasn’t talking. 

“It’s alright. You’re done. It’s done. I’m gonna get you down now, okay?” Sebastian hates this interaction. This stiff, awkward manner followed by David’s silence. A silence he couldn’t fill even if he’d been willing. Black has no need for his Romantics to have a voice. He orders all of them mute. Forbidden to read or write, David has only his hands and a few carefully chosen signs to communicate his basic needs. Everything else is given to him. His meals, his bedroom, his clothes and toiletries; the gym and swimming pool. All his to use. His only requirement -- the only requirement from all of them has ever been -- to be perfect. Beautiful. Something pleasing for Black to destroy in his idle moments. He needn’t be anything else.

David’s face crumbles in pain, his brows furrowed as he nods silently and manages to take his weight through his legs again, giving enough slack for Sebastian to slip the cuffs off. The moment he’s released, David falls forward, saved from hitting the ground by Sebastian who catches him and props him up, keeping him awake and alert as the fire must surely be peeling over David’s back and shoulders. He doesn’t make a sound, his coarse, heavy breathing the only indicator he’s suffering, and Sebastian can feel the thud of David’s heart under his hands. 

“It’s okay,” he feels compelled to say. To reassure. He doesn’t know if it does squat. “We’re gonna get you moved. I need you to stand up.” He instructs quietly, voice a little strained from tension and the weight of David in his arms but he manages to hoist them both on to their feet. He doesn’t know how, but David takes his own weight. He’s large and solid and built of nothing but muscle, perfect even when he’s broken, and he only leans into Sebastian for support as they stumble out of the Red Room and back down the hall. There are stairs to negotiate first, down then back up, until they are in David’s section of the upstairs. A small open planned bedroom suspended above the kitchen below. Out of sight, but never out of ear shot. 

Sebastian sits David down on his bed, and the young man slides sideways and sinks into the comforter, his bruised wrists struck at awkward angles beneath him as he lets out a sigh and closes his eyes. 

Sebastian knows there’s a first aid kit around here somewhere. He’s used it before. On others. He checks in the linen closet and wardrobe, and finally in the small bathroom cabinet where it’s tucked behind a single bottle of mouthwash and a toothbrush.

There will be no doctor tonight. One more way for Black to extend the suffering just a little bit longer. No doubt there will be a visit later on tonight, once Black’s thought’s turn towards bed. Sebastian rummages through the simple kit for anything useful. Finding only antiseptic and gauze, he returns with meager offerings and tries to stem the flow of blood. At least to save the sheets. 

David stiffens and flinches at the first touch, holds perfectly still and then breathes slowly and evenly through his mouth as Sebastian works quickly, wetting the new gauze with iodine and he feels David come close to snapping and screaming as he presses it to the wounds on his back. The air goes tense, like a charge before a storm and then David hisses out into the crook of his arm and he begins to tremble. He’s sweating and clammy to the touch but he shivers and pants as he works through the effort of holding it in.  
Eventually the blood slows and Sebastian does his best to patch him up with bandages and tape. It’s not perfect, but it will hold until morning when Black will allow the doctor to come and do a better job.

He’s packed away and cleaned up and just about to leave David to his much needed sleep when David reaches out and grabs Sebastian’s wrist. It’s weak and more of a gesture than any kind of threat, but Sebastian stops and waits. David is almost unconscious again but he manages one small, simple sign. It’s awkward and he’s using the wrong hand, but Sebastian hears him. 

'Thank you.'


End file.
